Cat's Cradle
by The Weaver Atropos
Summary: Mastermind manages to corner Abyssinian in a corner of an abandoned warehouse during a mission.


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_**Cat's Cradle  
**The Weaver Atropos  
((Time Frame)) April 8--August 24, 2005  
((Comments)) SchuAya...because I love teasing Ran...

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Cat's Cradle

His lungs burned.

Pushing himself more than his current state permitted, Ran thundered up the stairs of the warehouse, the ringing laughter in his ears telling him his enemy was still nearby. Calves sore, and breathing becoming just the slightest bit more uncomfortable, he used his free hand to grip at the hand rail, and lunged himself upwards.

And skidded straight into the arms of his enemy.

"Well, well…if it isn't the crimson cat, setting a wonderful example for his team. If you had wanted me _that_ bad, I'm sure I could've arranged for _something_."

The nasal tone irritated him more than he cared to admit, and the redhead made to pull away, when tight fingertips gripped at his cheeks. His face was pushed roughly to the side, and he was vaguely aware that the German was a few inches taller than he was. He glared.

Deep, mellow laughter reached his ears. "I really wouldn't do that if I were you, kitten. It makes you all the more appealing."

Nearly growling, Ran struggled against his suppressor once more, nails curling about delicate flesh. If Mastermind felt it, he showed no signs of it, save for the frown that coiled on his lips. "That's going to bruise."

The redhead made to move once more, but was held effectively in check by the taller man. "Ne…Abyssinian…"

Ran struggled despite himself, aware that his coat had fallen open in the effort and that Mastermind seemed to have little hesitation in letting it fall completely off his person. He smothered a shiver in his sleeveless black jersey shirt.

The German cocked his head infuriatingly toward the right, and ran a pale digit down his breastbone. Ran raised his face defiantly. "Don't you have you leader to run to?"

A pale, orangey brow rose condescendingly. "What Oracle does with himself…is his business…"

The lanky man drifted closer still, "…and what I do is _my_ business…"

Ran jerked up against Mastermind, but found his hands clenched at both sides of his head, captive in the other man's stronger hold. His breathing labored at the effort, and he was suddenly aware of the gravity of his situation.

Omi and Youji weren't even in the building, so they couldn't be of much assistance…and Ken was at least four floors away.

Schulidich smiled at the carelessly provided information. "And I'm going to make you _glad _for the fact, kitten."

Smouldering amethyst eyes glared. He struggled once more, grunting a little at the exertion, and closed his eyes when he felt Mastermind back away, thankful for the momentary reprieve. The tall German crossed his arms about his chest, brow raised and feline smirk gracing his otherwise aristocratic features. "Are you cold?"

He'd shivered. It was a cold night, colder than usual, at any rate, and standing as he was—clad in a thin sleeveless shirt, the chilling air was near biting. Would it not seem too a vulnerable move, he'd reach for his trench and pull it on. But he would give Mastermind no chance for advantage; no show of weakness. "But I don't want you _dead_, now, do I?"

The man kneeled down beside him, almond shaped eyes looking up at him amusedly, before reaching for his coat. In an action that Ran was realizing was distinctly his, the German raised his brow once more. "Why so many straps, Abyssinian? I never took you for the type…"

Ran, then freed, raised his arm to strike—if only with his fists—and found it captured easily enough. Mastermind cast him a reproving look. "I let you go, and this is what you do? Don't make me use _other_ means. I rather like you when you're lucid." _You remind me of Brad._

"The building's set to explode in twenty minutes." The tone was acidic, damn near apocalyptic.

A graceful shrug was all the response his endeavors reaped, "I don't think it'll take that long."

Amethyst eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you want?" His arms were beginning to ache; his right elbow in particular had begun to sting at the slightest jostle. He tried pushing with his legs, kicking out at the man's shins—feeling completely incompetent that he'd have to resort to such tactics—and growled when Mastermind tightened his grip on his wrists.

He wondered how they hadn't broken already.

The taller of the two redheads pressed closer to him, capturing his legs with his own, and placed a teasing—if not _mocking_—kiss at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. He backed up, amused, arrogant smirk gracing those puffy lips of his, and gauged for his reaction. "Fucking bastard."

Ask, and ye shall receive.

"Dirty little mouth there, Abyssinian…" He didn't bother with explanations—nor with amusing himself. If what he had said were true, there were only twenty minutes to spare, and he planned on exploiting them to their fullest potential.

A second later and _he_ was exploring that little dirty mouth, enjoying the way Abyssinian let out a strangled gasp—which promptly turned into an annoyed growl, and finally, his body was writhing against his in an effort to free himself from his grasp.

When Schulidich finally pulled away, licking at his lips, it was to find Abyssinian a perfect picture of tortured sexuality—head pressed against the concrete of the wall, vibrant crimson a stark contrast to the dull gray of the backdrop, eyes closed, mouth hung open—chest rising with sharp, erratic breaths. "Bastard."

But he didn't mean it. Not really.

"C'mon now, kitten…"

His lips fell on his again, feeling the other give into him despite himself, trying to pull away but drowning in his taste all the same. He could feel the man relax in his grip, body sagging just a little, aware of how his mouth was a less terse than it had been before…about how it was more inviting—more…

…and yet—the experience was so utterly and completely a worlds apart from what Balinese had been. The other man had been yielding—his body pliant and soft in that way that lithe bodies tend to be—but he had lacked a certain candor about him—a certain spark, a passion. And Abyssinian, for all his talk about impassiveness and lack of emotion, was bursting at the seams with fiery rebellion that was not only paradoxical to his apparent nature…but damn near arousing.

He was fascinated by Abyssinian. He'd been intrigued by the rude, caustic redhead from the moment he'd laid eyes on him. Pale in that way that only aristocracy is—hair the color of blood, lips pale and pink, skin the hue of ivory—it was an alluring juxtaposition to his attitude: to his harshness, his lack of sympathy—his overall demeanor.

And he'd be lying if he said it hadn't made him crazy.

There had been others of course, the brunette who'd piquied his attention for his sheer recklessness; the tall blone…but these—they lacked the continued self pity and loathing that made Abyssinian such a promising target. Siberian was rebellious, granted—and he was a capable man…but he lacked the conflicting moral outlook that made the redhead stand out. He was tortured—but not to the extent that Abyssinian had been—and he wasn't near as much thirsting for revenge.

No…the pale man was a mystery of his own right…he'd read him before—on various occasions, even…but there had always been something in his eyes—something burning in those amethyst depths that had made him stop. He was almost like Crawford in his overbearing nature—but this was a Crawford he could control…one he could _tease_…one who would bark, but scarcely ever bite.

And he never would. Not unless his sister were involved—he had learned that before.

But there was a certain triumph in making the man shake in anger.

Schulidich growled low in his throat, aware that Abyssinian's pause had been more in an attempt to muster his strength than to give in to him, and pushed hard against him. He could feel him clamp shut on his mouth, damn near tearing his tongue in half, and pulled away unpleasantly. "Why are you fighting so much, kitten? The others didn't take half as long as you…"

And it was true. Balinese had succumbed almost without coaxing—his sinewy frame smooth and tracked beneath his palms. The brunette had hesitated infinitely more—put up a more violent fight even, but he too had given in, although his cheeks had been burning an unpleasant pink throughout it all.

The other he'd never dared touch.

The look in the redhead's eyes told him he hadn't believed his words anyway.

"Now now, what's this?" a communicator cackled in his hands as he teasingly slipped his fingertips up Abyssinian's neck and to his ear. A pair of flaring violet followed his trail.

"_Abyssinian? Abyssinian?"_

The German man tilted his head curiously to the side, gracing the man before him with a near-crazed feline smile, and crushed the device within his fingers. "And that's the end of _that_."

"Bastard."

Schulidich licked his lips and pushed the redhead back up against the wall, his hands roaming. He could very vaguely, as he dropped to his knees, make out the startled look on the man's eyes, as though he hadn't really thought he would follow through with his threat. "I always keep my promises."

The man shuddered, amethyst eyes torn between fluttering shut and remaining open, and tried to shift away from Mastermind, finding his limbs near useless. His legs seemed to buckle as he tried to move, and he was mildly aware that the German had undone the buckle of his jeans and was now working on its buttons. "Have a little patience, Abyssinian…there's still time."

He'd be damned if Persia's little cat didn't look more than a bit shaken, then.

He should've been more careful, then. Fear tended to do the weirdest of things to people.

In his earnest, he had forgotten to bind the redhead properly, and in a manner of seconds he found himself sprawled on his back, a mass of heavy muscle pinning him in place. He grinned up at Abyssinian, arching upwards against the man and feeling the other tense at the contact, "You could've just asked, you know."

He winced as Ran lifted him slightly off the floor, only to bring him back down with a vengeance. There be another bruise.

And he couldn't help himself, taking advantage of the man's pure anger, he wrapped his hands about that pale, thin neck, and brought the redhead crushingly close. He could feel him hesitate—frown even, before kissing him back with a vengeance that put even the flustered Siberian to shame.

…And the hands that had pinned him down to the floor were suddenly at his chest, undoing the buttons of his Chanel dress shirt, and then further down, working on his slacks.

Mastermind growled, feeling Abyssinian shove him down tight against the floor once more when he tried to move, and dug his nails fiercely against the man's shoulders. He'd be damned if he'd let the kitten inflict damage without doling out some of his own.

Schulidich pulled away momentarily, looking upwards at the hazy, unfocused redhead above, taking in the flushed skin that oh-so-much-more enticing than that pale ghostliness of before, and the bruised, bleeding lips that followed. The man's shirt had hitched upwards in his attack, and he could barely make out his smooth, milky skin. The German redhead reached for it and pulled it off in one swift motion. He could very vaguely make out the kitten's deepening breaths.

His breathing was a distraction in and of itself. Schulidich felt his lips stretch out into an even wider smile, "Ten minutes."

And that seemed to trigger some sort of reaction in Abyssinian. He paused, as though only just making sense of what Schulidich had been saying all along, and shot from the floor as though burned, looking about him bewilderedly. _Ten minutes…?_

He heard the scattered thought from where he was, sprawled on the ground, shirt torn open, skin bruised and reddened, pants unbuckled and open. A bit of a smirk played at his lips. _'Ten minutes, kitten.'_

'_Ken.'_

The thought was absent minded…almost a distracted venture. Schulidich quirked a brow. "He's not in the building, kitten."

Ran seemed not to understand for a minute. Schulidich grinned in that way of his as he picked himself up from the floor. He dusted himself absently, stretching his arms about his head and letting his muscles flex as they'd like. After contenting himself with a pleasant little sigh, he fixed Abyssinian with a taunting glance. "He had some trouble with some guards. And now that would be…seven minutes."

Ran's eyes narrowed.

Schulidich gave a nod, "That's right, kitten. And you've only seven minutes to find him before the place goes boom. I'd hurry, If I were you."

Unsure of whether Mastermind were joking, Ran looked about himself. He remembered Omi's call into his communicator, unsure if it had been one warning him of Ken's condition, or simply seeking out his location. He cursed.

"That's right, kitten."

Schulidich lazily began buttoning up his shirt as he watched the redhead take off into the darkness of the unlit hallway, the staccato of his steps sharp against his ears. The blood was still pumping through his body, hot and unsatisfied. Turning, he licked at his lips and made toward a nearby window. _Have fun._

_O w a r i_

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_Mwhahahah! It would have been a lot limier if I were sure of exactly how limely wouldn't get me kicked off the site…but…I like. And of course, SchuAya rocks. Dedicated to DJ (aka RoseofBetrayal), because she loves SchuAya and needed a fix._


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